The grand hallway was unlike anything Freya had ever seen.
Polished black marble stretched beneath her feet, gleaming under the crystal chandeliers that floated like stars above. Every step echoed in the silence, swallowed by the towering columns that lined the corridor. The air was sharp with the scent of metal and power, clean but not welcoming.
Two maids escorted her—heads bowed, eyes down, almost afraid to speak. Freya's nerves buzzed like static beneath her skin. She kept her head up, but her thoughts raced.
Who is this man? Why does it feel like I’m walking into the den of a lion?
They reached an ornate door at the far end, deep mahogany with golden handles shaped like clawed wings. One of the maids knocked lightly, then pushed it open.
"Sir," the maid said in a hushed voice. "S
